


three years

by foxfireflamequeen



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Holidays, M/M, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 02:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17153321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/pseuds/foxfireflamequeen
Summary: Tyler is warm, and sleepy, and horny, and he remembers Prague.





	three years

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/gifts).



> Inspired by the fact that Sidney Crosby uses snapchat, and Tyler Seguin prefers calling to texting.
> 
> It didn't turn out the way I wanted, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Happy holidays!

_They’re perfect_ , Sid sends in response to the video of Gerry and Cash launching themselves into a pile of dirt in Tyler’s backyard. Most of the time Sid’s replies to Tyler’s snaps consist of a roll of tape or a pair of skates, occasionally Sid in his gameday suit, but he always gets a text response to pictures of his dogs. If he weren’t so adamant about not getting pets until he retired Tyler’s positive Sid would’ve stolen Cash out from under his nose by now. Marshall is Tyler’s baby and Gerry loves whoever gives him treats, but Cash met Sidney Crosby once and embarrassingly acted exactly like his owner. If Sid said, _come with me_ , Cash wouldn’t even look back.

“You know what they say about dogs and their owners, Sego,” Alex said serenely when Tyler told him this. “Shut up and watch the movie.”

“Hashtag relatable,” Jason had added, because he was an ass who was around in Prague.

 _ikr_ , Tyler texts Sid now, letting the dogs shake off the dirt in his foyer. _i have the best dogs_.

 _Second-best_ , Sid says predictably, forever loyal to his old family pup. Tyler laughs a little, because it’s definitely not true, but he knows better than to start this fight.

 _going home for xmas?_ he asks. Sid doesn’t always; last year he went to Vegas, and wasn’t that a fun secret to keep.

 _Florida, maybe_ , says Sid. _But probably Pittsburgh. Rookie’s staying_.

Tyler doesn’t know which Penguin is going to Florida for the holiday break, and he only vaguely remembers a rookie, but it’s not unusual for international players on ELCs to not make the long, expensive trek to Europe for a three-day break. Tyler’s not totally sure what Miro’s doing for the holidays, but he knows neither him nor Esa are going to Finland.

It’s just like Sid, to stick around because his kids are. Tyler grins down at his phone fondly and types, _ur such an old man_. Sid’s bitmoji pops up to read it, then disappears. Tyler doesn’t mind; he doesn’t like texting, and Sid isn’t the best at small talk.

The dogs are down in front of the fireplace, so Tyler turns up the heat, gets himself a glass of spiked eggnog, and strips down to his sweats to drop down on the couch. He’s debating turning on a movie when the yellow light goes off on his phone.

The photo Sid sent is of a pair of holiday-stockinged feet, fire and giant TV in the background. It’s disgustingly cute, especially given Tyler remembers back when all of Sid’s snaps were blurry and angled straight up his nose. He considers his own feet; they’re smaller than Sid’s, and hairier, and he’s not wearing cute socks.

He sends back a picture of his blank TV screen and captions it, _BORED_. Which, he’s not, really. There’s more alcohol than eggnog in his cup, and he’s warm and sleepy and a little horny, but he wouldn’t mind some company.

 _You have dogs_ , Sid sends back, because that’s his go-to solution for every problem Tyler’s ever had. Tyler frowns at his phone and considers just calling him if they’re going to carry on this conversation, then writes, _dogs aren’t everything sidney_.

Sid’s bitmoji pops up, and Tyler can imagine perfectly the laughter that follows, loud and a little embarrassing. Sid probably doesn’t try to stifle it in the privacy of his home. Sid starts to type something back, and Tyler impulsively adds three kissing face emojis.

The thought bubble disappears. It pops up once, then disappears again, and Tyler’s just typed out, _don’t think too hard you’ll hurt yourself_ , when Sid’s reply comes through.

_Are you starting something here?_

Tyler snorts. Sid’s not exactly known for his humor, but he can be funny when he wants. He sends back a simple, _what do you think ;)_ and assumes there won’t be a reply.

Except there’s a buzzing against his chest again a minute later, and. “Oh my god,” Tyler says out loud, and drops his phone.

By the time he’s scrambled to pick it up off the carpet the screen’s gone blank and the snap is gone. Tyler replays it, and yeah, okay, he didn’t imagine any of it. That’s definitely Sidney Crosby’s abs, and those briefs are riding _real_ low on his hips, and that is definitely a flash of Sid’s pubic hair, and Tyler has to put down his phone and sit for a minute, because now that he thinks about it, he can see how Sid might have gotten that message.

He considers calling Alex, but Alex would just laugh at him and hang up. Then he considers calling Big Rig, which, that’s probably not _the_ worst idea he’s ever had, but it sure as hell is up there. Then he notices the little notification light, and thumbs open the new text.

 _Your turn_ , Sid sent.

“Oh my god,” Tyler says again. Marshall raises his head to look at him, and there’s no fucking way Tyler is doing this in front of his dogs. He can’t believe he’s doing this at all, but.

But.

Tyler is warm, and sleepy, and horny, and he remembers Prague. He remembers kneeling on the ice in front of Sid and the way Sid’s eyes went dark when he brought the Cup to Tyler’s lips, and three years later they still haven’t done anything about it past a drunken makeout in a closet at the All-Star weekend.

“Dogs, out,” he says, and they scatter immediately.

The thing is, Tyler doesn’t do this. He doesn’t like to text, he definitely doesn’t sext, and for all that he’s known for in the league and out, he’s never actually taken a dick pic.

The first picture comes out too try-hard, with his pouting lips and bedroom eyes. The second one of his abs is poorly angled and lit and he looks _soft_. He’s pretty sure sexting isn’t supposed to be this hard, but what does he know?

His phone vibrates, because of course, he’s left Sidney Crosby on hold. Tyler genuinely doesn’t understand why Sid bothers acknowledging his existence sometimes.

 _You don’t have to_ , Sid sent him, like a proper gentleman. Last time Tyler sexted someone at nineteen years old he was definitely a lot ruder than this. _I can imagine it just fine_.

Tyler stares at his phone, cheeks burning. He wonders if Sid’s done that before, gotten off imagining Tyler. He wonders if Sid thought of Prague.

Tyler never even got to find out what Sid’s dick looks like.

The thought bubble pops up, and Sid adds, _Unless you don’t want?_

Tyler has waited three years for this. Three years of it in the back of his mind when he faced off against Sid on the dot, when Sid pressed too close during the All-Star weekend, when Sid invited him and Jamie and Jason to dinner in Pittsburgh and his foot pressed up against Tyler’s under the table. Tyler has dated a couple girls and fucked a handful of guys, and Jason still teases him about _Crosby_.

Three years of anticipation culminating in this, a random night in December with Sid waiting on the other end of the phone. Tyler is a little confused and a lot turned on but most of all he _wants_ this, which is probably why he panics and responds, _lol_

He sees Sid open it, the little bitmoji in predictable Pens gear popping up and ducking down, reading. There’s no thought bubble, so Sid isn’t typing, he’s just. Staring at Tyler’s _lol_ , because Tyler responded to a sext with fucking _lol_. He should just turn over and suffocate himself in a pillow now.

He should send a follow up. Make things less weird. He types, _what r u wearing_ , considers it, then adds another, _lol_ , because it looks weird without the _lol_.

Sid opens that, too, and there’s another long pause. It occurs to Tyler that Sid already sent him one picture, which Tyler replayed, which showed him pretty much exactly what Sid was wearing, and it wasn’t a whole lot.

After another excruciating ten seconds, a thought bubble pops up. _You don’t do this very often, do you_ , Sid sends, and as mortifying as this has been, at least that’s a question Tyler can answer.

 _that obvious lol_ , Tyler replies, and realizes belatedly that he’s responded to everything Sid sent him so far with _lol_. It is a genuine miracle that this conversation is still going.

A long thought bubble appears, then disappears, then reappears. Sid is clearly writing and deleting and rewriting messages, and Tyler is going to die of a confused, embarrassed boner before Sid can send any of them. Tyler should probably ask Jamie to come by tomorrow to rescue his dogs.

Finally, Sid sends, _Maybe don’t laugh at this_

_But I really like your dick_

_Did you know I’m pretty good at blowjobs?_

“Guh,” says Tyler, out loud. He types, _adflsjfdk_

 _I know you like my mouth_ , Sid says. _I’ve seen you looking_.

Tyler and the rest of the league. He can’t have been _that_ obvious, maybe, but before he can ask, Sid sends, _It’s a good thing_

 _I like your dick, you like my mouth. I’d like your dick in my mouth_.

_Think we can both get on board with that._

Tyler is so on board with that it’s bordering on painful. _oh my god_ , he sends. _yes_

Then he thinks about it.

 _um_ , he adds.

 _if you want_ , he adds.

 _lol_ , he adds.

There are a lot of ways that could have gone, most of them bad, but this time Sid just ignores him. A snapchat pic notification pops up. If Tyler opens it, there’s a nonzero chance he will expire from sheer arousal and disbelief. He shouldn’t open it.

He opens it, and holy shit, that’s Sid’s dick. His real, actual dick, and he’s hard, and he’s got a hand around himself, not squeezing, just holding. There’s precome beading at the top and Tyler can see the shining head, and Tyler shoves a hand down his sweats so fast he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He’s finally seen Sid’s dick and frankly he wants it all the way up where the sun don’t shine, and Tyler’s becoming way too American, he needs to stop.

There’s a message, too, blue and waiting.

 _I want_ , Sid sent.

The dick pic was. It was a dick pic. But it’s the text that makes Tyler fumble and drop his phone again.

 _I want too_ , he wants to say, but instead he picks up his phone and takes a wobbly, out of focus picture of his crotch. It’s not a good picture. His naked dick probably looks nicer than this picture, but it shows that he’s hard, which is probably the point. Tyler doesn’t really know anymore. His brain oozed out of his ears around the second time he responded to Sid’s sext with _lol_.

This is also probably why he follows up his terrible crotch pic with, _omg you have the best mouth i bet everyone’s thought about it, i wanna fuck your mouth so bad_

He sends it and stops to think, which should have been his cue that something was about to go wrong.

 _only if you’re into it tho_ , he adds. _i know not everyone wants that_

_are you into it? you can tell me if you’re not_

_back in prague claude never fucking shut up about your mouth he hated you a lot but we both def jerked off thinking about it at some point_

Sid’s bitmoji stares at the lines of text for another long moment. Then, _Can we not talk about Giroux while we’re doing this_

Tyler probably should’ve known that. _mb_ , he sends, contrite. _so is that a yes on the mouth fucking_

 _Definitely a yes on the mouth fucking_ , Sid sends. _You can even pull my hair if you want_

Well, Tyler thinks. Sid hasn’t hung him out to dry yet and he’s made it this far. He genuinely doesn’t know how or why but frankly neither him nor his dick cares at this point, so he decides to just. Go for it.

 _fuck baby_ , he sends. _i wanna fuck your mouth so bad. i bet you could take all of it_

Then, because he hasn’t done this since the last time he sat through three hours of sensitivity training at nineteen, he says, _oh shit that was too much wasn’t it. it was too much mb. i just wanted to let you know i’ve thought about your mouth a lot it’s so big and your lips are fucking huge it’s like half your face is mouth it’s really fucking hot i bet your lips feel like soft pillows_.

Then he rereads what he wrote, and adds, _in a good way!_

Tyler’s done a lot of embarrassing things in twenty-six years. He’s pretty sure that in twenty-six more years, tonight is going to top all of that.

Whatever Sid actually thinks of Tyler the human disaster, he’s still Sidney Crosby, which is probably why he replies, _Um. Thanks_.

_Another pic would be nice :)_

That’s probably a good idea, because god knows Tyler looks better than he can sext. He wriggles his sweats down to his thighs and manages to take a good pic for once, one hand cupping his balls to hold them nice and even.

This time he doesn’t have to wait. Sid immediately responds, encouraging. _That’s so hot_

 _How about I just tell you what I’d do, and you touch yourself, then send me a pic when you’re done_.

Tyler can get on board with this, too. He doesn’t know how exactly Sid is so good at sexting when he hates taking selfies and doesn’t bother to update his phone, but he’ll take the out he’s given. There’s a pretty high chance Sid won’t ever try this again anyway, so Tyler might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

It’s still highkey annoying to jack himself with one hand and hold up his phone and angle shots with the other, but it’s worth it for the moment Sid says, _I wanted to invite you to my room at asg_

He says a lot of things before and says a lot of things after, but that’s what makes Tyler come, just a hand around his dick and the faded memory of Sid’s mouth on his. When he’s done catching his breath he looks at the white streaking up his chest and takes a photo, and doesn’t think to tighten his stomach until after it’s sent.

Sid doesn’t seem to mind. It takes a minute, but his response doesn’t disappoint. Tyler replays the snap of Sid’s come-covered abs, and doesn’t care that Sid will see that, too. Sid stuck with him through Tyler’s mortifying fumbling and terrible sexting. He wanted to invite Tyler to his room at All-Star weekend. He can afford to know how much Tyler wants to fuck him.

 _We need to work on that_ , Sid says, when Tyler’s done cleaning himself up. _You’re overthinking it. Just say what you want. Don’t worry about looking good._

Tyler wants to be offended, but he can backread everything he sent in the heat of the panic-aroused moment, and he’s very thankful snapchat will erase the evidence in less than twenty-four hours.

 _r u giving me a performance evaluation???_ he sends anyway, because he’s warm and sleepy and not horny anymore, but he doesn’t want this conversation to end.

 _Your performance was terrible_ , Sid replies. _So yes_.

Tyler calls him.

“Hi,” says Sid. There’s no evidence of what they just did in his voice. If he’d really done everything he said he wanted to do, his throat would be sore and hoarse from Tyler’s dick.

“I don’t like texting,” Tyler says. It’s a bit of an excuse, but also not.

“Oh,” says Sid. “You could have called.”

In hindsight, that’s probably true. In hindsight, Tyler thinks, he should have invited Sid to his room at All-Star weekend. Should have pushed Sid down on his bed at Prague and kissed him until they were both sticky with more than beer and champagne.

“I will next time,” Tyler says, daring. It’s not unlike him, but he’s never tried it with Sid. There’s something about Sidney Crosby that reduced even Claude Giroux to shy smiles and flirty shoves, but Tyler doesn’t want that, not really. Jamie got the Sidney Crosby that hustled Olympians in Sochi, and Jason got the one that blinked innocently at the linesman when he was accused of cheating. Tyler wants the Sid that spread his thighs for Tyler to sit between on the floor during team meetings, the one that curled his big hands around Tyler’s ears when they kissed and said, “I like you,” to Tyler’s face. He’s as brave now as he was then, flushed from alcohol and victory and strangely shy, even though he must have known he could’ve had anyone in that locker room.

He didn’t want anyone in that room, though. He wanted Tyler. Still seems to, after three years.

Sid doesn’t say, _what next time?_ He says, “Okay,” instead, soft and happy, and Tyler thinks of him in his big empty house without even a dog. Tyler has plans for Christmas already, but nothing he can’t move around a little.

“Hey,” he says. “Miro and Esa are probably staying in Dallas. You should come over.” He hears Sid take a breath, and adds, “Bring your rookie. It’s the Finnish one, right? He can make friends.”

“Olli is here too,” Sid says. Tyler can hear the smile in his voice.

“I have a big house,” he says. “Plenty of room. I also have three dogs.”

“They are really great dogs,” Sid allows. It’s not a yes, which, that’s fair. Tyler’s asking for a strange thing, and pretty damn suddenly. But he thinks he can wear Sid down. There’s still a week before the holiday, and All-Star break after that.

“Plus I’d really like to see your dick in person,” Tyler tells him, because why even bother trying to save face anymore. “It’s a nice dick.”

Sid starts to laugh. It’s not a pretty laugh, but Tyler knows exactly how it crinkles up his eyes and scrunches his nose. He’s looking forward to seeing that in person, too.

It’s been three years since Prague. It’s beyond time one of them did something about it.


End file.
